Warmth
by Johanna's Motivational Insults
Summary: Claire doesn't know how to define this relationship, but it's taking her by surprise. (Or, when Claire stands to leave the bus, Morgan pulls her back.)


A/N: This is just an alternate ending to 3x04. Could be conceived as either platonic or pre-romantic, possibly both.

Uhhh, Morgan isn't in the drop down character list and I don't know how to fix that, so she's not listed. But she's obviously here too.

* * *

A gnawing sense of emptiness eats at Claire's insides as the bus rattles along, approaching her stop. She's so tired and wants nothing more than to go home, but the last thing she wants is to return to her empty apartment. She sniffles, glazed eyes focused on the empty seats across from her. Why did her mother have to waltz back into the life she'd made for herself and destroy everything, again? Promising she'd changed and breaking Claire's walls down, letting her hope again, before going back to her same old bullshit and dying on her.

Steeling herself with a sigh, Claire decides she'll go home long enough to change out of this ridiculous outfit, then go get herself a stiff drink. Maybe a warm body, if the opportunity presents itself.

Her stop is only a few blocks away now. Better not miss it. Better not ride this bus forever, running from the pain, feeling nothing but the comforting weight of her co-worker slumped against her side. The thought makes Claire blink. 'Co-worker' doesn't quite seem to cut it anymore. Rival? Friend? Frenemy? Claire tests the labels in her mind, unable to settle on one. She's always had a hard time understanding, let alone defining, her relationship with Morgan. Today's events aren't making that any easier.

Labels aside, Claire needs to get up and isn't about to let Morgan fall and break her pretty little face. She pokes the woman sleeping on her shoulder, waits until she sits up with a bleary flutter of her eyelids before moving to stand. Before she's fully on her feet a pale hand shoots out and snags her arm.

With her movement suddenly halted, Claire falls back down onto the edge of the seat. She turns to glare at Morgan, but the expression melts away as she registers the softness in her groggy blue eyes.

"Hey," says Morgan, her voice raspy from sleep. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Claire says automatically. When Morgan narrows her eyes doubtfully, Claire's shoulders droop with a sheepish smile. There's really no point putting up a front with this woman. Like she said, she's not big on pretenses. "I need a drink," admits Claire.

"Well, your apartment's dry and liquor stores won't be open at this hour," Morgan points out, apparently thinking she means drinking at home.

Claire opens her mouth to correct this assumption, but something in Morgan's face gives her pause. Something in the way her brow furrows with a frown as her tired brain works something out. Something in the softness of her gaze, in the way her eyes flit down briefly before she speaks. "I have a really nice merlot back at the apartment."

Claire can only stare at her blonde companion, tempted to poke and prod her in disbelief. Is this really Morgan? Cutthroat, asshole, only out for herself Morgan Reznick?

Shrugging slightly, Morgan leans back against the seat and mutters, "Unless you wanna be alone right now."

A breathy laugh echoes out of Claire's lungs before she can stop it. "No. I really don't."

And so she stays. Letting her stop roll by outside the window, she settles back into the seat. Morgan grunts her approval and lays her head back on Claire's shoulder, this time loosely gripping her upper arm. Why? So she won't fall out of her seat? So Claire can't escape again?

As the hand's warmth seeps into her skin, the truth smacks Claire upside the head. The hand is meant to comfort her. Morgan _cares_.

That doesn't sound right, but Claire can't deny the statement's truth. Morgan didn't have to come harass her when she saw her staring blankly into her trunk. Claire wouldn't have blamed her for walking away, especially after she pushed her away the first time she tried to ask what was on her mind. Morgan didn't even have to ask that first time, she could have just let Claire stew in her misery. But no. Morgan tried to help her. She didn't start needling and interrogating Claire about her problems to torture her and drag her down, she asked because she cares.

Scoffing in disbelief, Claire stares down at the friend she didn't know she had. She shakes her head with a sigh and decides what the hell, tipping her head to rest against the one beside her. Letting Morgan take her weight too, something she hasn't done in a long time. The hand on her arm squeezes just the tiniest bit, its thumb grazing gently across her skin a few times before coming to rest. Claire begins to feel herself melting under the warm touch, her body relaxing further as new tears form in her eyes and spill out over her stained cheeks.

Turns out even someone as cold as Morgan Reznik has a warm body. And a surprisingly warm heart.

* * *

A/N: This is my first shot at Breznick, not very long or elaborate but it's what my brain barfed up after watching their best episode since Aftermath.

There's a possibilty I'll continue this (and make it less platonic), but I'm so swamped with WIPs that for now I'm just calling this a one shot.


End file.
